


Music

by orphan_account



Category: The Wolves of Mercy Falls - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Bad Poetry, Gen, Inspired by Poetry, Poetry, Stream of Consciousness, old work from 2012, vague mentions of physical abuse from Sam's parents, written in poetry style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27549607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sam was born with music inside him. Drabble.
Kudos: 1





	Music

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from one of my old fanfiction accounts @sunday showers. Originally written and posted on Nov. 23, 2012.  
> Slightly edited from the original version as of Nov. 13, 2020.

The first notes were nothing more than simple rhythmic beats. One at a time, hollow and enticing. He didn’t understand what a heartbeat was, could only appreciate the comforting sound. What were to be eyes, were closed and the ears had barely begun to form. Still, in the enclosure, he felt safe and loved, if only by the sound of the beat. And maybe it wasn't the sound but the feeling. The shaking of his small form at every thump. It was warm, enticing.

-

Before he could form words, he made sounds. His mind, still developing, had picked up an order. He would awaken and she would come. Soft waves of different notes coming around the corner before she appeared. He reached out a fist, hoping to grasp these words, these sounds. He wanted them. He wanted to feel them, their warmth, their love. If he was lucky, she had a word or two, in the same sound as the hum she'd make as she cradled him to her. He watched her form words on her lips and blow through them to produce sounds. He'd tried, but never repeated the melody.

-

_ ‘No’ _ was his first response when his father reached for the largest knob on the car’s radio. He wanted to hear the sounds, the  _ thump thump _ of the DJ's beat and the calming words of the tempests' slur before she and her colleagues exploded into a chorus of words he still couldn't understand. He remembered the look on his father's face, eyes wide and mouth dropped open, but still the radio plowed on, despite the profanity that flowed from the woman's mouth.

-

_ ‘Samuel’ _ was the first word he spelled for his proud parents at the teacher conference, but ‘ _ song’  _ was the one he wrote over and over in the margins of notes and textbooks. Alone he could form the words with the expected penmanship, but when he tried to string them together it looked all wrong. The word appeared dull and sad, like a basic sentence off a worksheet. This was  _ ‘song’. _ This was the hums and clucks of tongue and the words they made for a hour a week in a stuffy room with a blind teacher and her conducting wand. It didn't look so straight edged and prepared, it was loopy and horizontal and vertical, and striked through and erased.

-

_ Please, stop. Please, STOP!  _ The first song. With lyrics and a beat. The ceramic of the tub was cold to the touch. Just beneath his bare body, steam rose tickling the hairs along his arms.  _ Please stop. Please stop _ . It was only two words, but they poured from his mouth like a song as a foreign grip tightened around his body, pushing hard. The rattle of his father's fingertips against the tub's side. Over and over again. Who were these people, with their dull eyes and stitched frowns? Who were these two figures he had once looked to for comfort and acceptance who now attempted to force him down beneath the water. 

The water is scolding and he screams, but they don’t stop. His heart hammers in his chest    
( _ Thump Thump, Thump Thump. ) _ , dueting his plea ( _ Please, stop! Please, stop! Please, stop! _ ).

-

There is no pattern to the crunching of leaves beneath tender paws. The whistle in the wind is far too pitched to even be considered. But what does it matter?

For a wolf hears nothing that speaks music. To a wolf, music is a scent that has long since been lost. 

A wolf is deaf to the ear.

  
  



End file.
